


I Don't Know Where To Go From Here

by bri617



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Buzzfeed video, Eventual Happy Ending, Exes meet again, F/M, No island, Not Canon Compliant At All, Post-Break Up, Sara playing matchmaker, no vigilantes, some serious talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-22 08:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10693167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bri617/pseuds/bri617
Summary: Based on a Buzzfeed video called Exes Ask Questions Forehead To Forehead.Oliver and Felicity meet again more than a year after their break-up, only to find out some shocking truths that quickly make them realize that not everything about their split was quite as black and white as it seemed at the time. They both have to reevaluate their past choices and make a decision for the future.But does it change anything? Can they find a way to come back to each other or did they destroy their relationship for good?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on a Buzzfeed video called Exes Ask Questions Forehead To Forehead that I came across on Facebook a good while ago. You can find the vid [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vHXM28QPTKQ)! Little disclaimer (#1): I never actually watched the video, so I have no idea how accurate my description of the scene is. I just saw the title and my mind screamed Olicity.
> 
> Title based on You+Me’s Second Guess, which you can find [right here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4CFJXF9cFqY).
> 
> Disclaimer #2: Please read the whole chapter. I realize that a lot of you will dislike the reason for the break-up (as do I!), but if you've got the time, do me a favor and read the whole chapter. It'll provide a whole lot of background info on the situation and explain a few things. Explain, not justify! Just give it a try, alright? I know what I'm doing!
> 
> Disclaimer #3: Before I finally let you start reading, I kindly remind you that you’ve clicked on an **AU**. There’s no island and no vigilante-ing. If you’re looking for canon compliant characterizations, you’ve come to the wrong place, because these versions of Felicity and Oliver have had very different lives. You’ve been warned, so don’t go and complain about the characters being ooc!
> 
> That’s all.
> 
> Happy reading and a wonderful weekend to y’all!

_I wish I could rewrite_  
_The stories of the past_  
_But you can't go back and change what's done_  
_Start over from where you began_

 _I don't know where to go from here now_  
_Something still lingers low it's weighing me down_  
_I know the sun will shine again_  
_Back and forth it seems we'll remain until the end_

 

**⁂ ⁂ ⁂**

 

Pro tip: don’t be friends with a Buzzfeed video producer.

If there were a scale of one to ten for bad ideas, this would be an even twenty.

She should’ve never agreed to this.

What the _hell_ was she thinking?

Oh, right, she wasn’t! Which is why she’s in this mess….

And it’s all because she couldn’t say no to her best friend. Who, in retrospect, is turning out to be a terrible friend, because a best friend wouldn’t put her friend in this position.

‘This position’ being literally face to face with her cheating ex-boyfriend.

Oliver Queen.

She sighs inwardly. It’s been a little over a year and she honestly thought she was doing a great job getting over and past him. (That’s a lie. She’s totally still pining after the dickwad.)

And now, being here with him, everything just fucking hurts again, and she wants to go home, curl up on her couch with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, a bottle of tequila and just wallow in the misery that is thinking about the man she thought she’d spend the rest of her life with.

Oh, how fucking wrong she’d been about that.

 

⁂ ⁂ ⁂ **ARROW** ⁂ ⁂ ⁂

 

He’d known the second he’d made the drunken promise to Sara to help her with her new video that it was a god awful, all around terrible idea.

But it’s too late to back out now.

He’s _inches_ away from the love of his life. In fact, it’s the first time he’s been anywhere this close to her since that night. Since that epic, fucking disaster of a conclusion to what once was the most amazing relationship he was ever in.

He misses it.

God, he misses _her_. All day, every day.

It was so easy to be with her, to be loved by her.

Until it wasn’t.

 _There were plenty of reasons why you two broke up_ , he reminds himself forcefully, trying desperately to not let himself be dragged under by all the happy memories they’d shared.

“We’re all set, guys,” Sara chimes from her position behind the expensive camera equipment, reminding him that they’re not alone, but that there’s a film and production crew of about fifteen people buzzing around them. “Alright, we’re rolling. Put your foreheads together and I’ll start with the questions.”

He nods in confirmation and watches as Felicity does the same. He scans her eyes and for just a second he can see doubt and maybe a hint of fear there before her mask of indifference slides back into place. It’s cold and calculating and so unlike the warm and open Felicity he fell madly in love with.

And yeah, this version of her is so different and yet so familiar (because let’s be honest, this is exactly how she’s looked at him the few times they’ve run into each other since their break-up) that he visibly hesitates before moving closer to connect their foreheads.

She hesitates, too, and from the suddenly very determined look on her face he just _knows_ she just gave herself a mental pep talk.

It makes him feel a little better to know that he’s not the only one affected by this situation.

When her soft skin touches his, he has to use every last ounce of control to keep from visibly reacting. It’s every bit as amazing as he remembers.

Shit! He’s most definitely, without a doubt, _so_ not over her.

Has he mentioned what a horrible idea this is?

 

⁂ ⁂ ⁂ **ARROW** ⁂ ⁂ ⁂

 

Fuuuuck.

Touching him is just as electrifying as she remembers. And she _hates_ that her body still craves his touch so goddamn much. And why is her heart rate picking up?

Being so close to him feels incredibly good… right… familiar. Like everything is finally back to the way it’s supposed to be. Like she’s where she’s supposed to be.

But it’s not. That’s the brutal reality of the moment: they’re not supposed to be together. It’s over. Has been for a long time.

After the first wave of familiarity and longing passes, the crushing, familiar feeling of hurt sets in. It’s like this man, for some unfathomable and unfair reason, has the ability to make her feel like her heart is being ripped out of her chest again just by looking at her.

“How long has it been since your break-up?” Sara asks into the silence that is surrounding them.

Fifteen months, eight days, and nineteen hours, give or take. But who’s keeping count?

“About a year,” Oliver answers, his breath ghosting over her lips.

Yeah, let’s go with the less pathetic answer.

“How long were you two together?”

She’s waiting for him to answer again, but he keeps quiet. Is it because he doesn’t know or because he’s trying to be considerate and let her answer?

She locks her eyes with his briefly, making sure she doesn’t get lost in them. “Five years, give or take,” she says, voice surprisingly steady. _See_ , he’s not the only one who can give vague answers.

She feels more than sees the way his jaw clenches and unclenches and he sucks in a breath.

Huh, maybe he’s not completely unaffected after all.

“And you were engaged for the last year of your relationship?”

Felicity just nods roughly in response, not willing to elaborate on that.

“How did you meet?”

Apparently, they’re taking turns answering, because this time he jumps in again, “In college, the summer before our junior years. She worked at a Tech Village and I spilled a latte on my laptop which she proceeded to lecture me about for a solid hour while salvaging what was left of a thesis I was writing at the time. She saved my ass, I asked her out, she said no.” He peers at Sara from the corner of his eye. “We met again through mutual friends and, eventually, we started dating.”

He leaves out the part where they’d become close friends first. They’d just kept on meeting through their friends and she’d observed him carefully, until she was sure that he was actually a decent guy and not just trying to get into her pants for a quick fuck.

Admittedly, it had taken a while for her to see past her preconceptions about him that were solely based on the stuff she’d read on the internet about him. But once he’d proven himself to be a genuinely good guy, she’d opened up her heart to him. And in the end, she’d been the one to ask him out, almost a year after their first meeting.

“So, it wasn’t love at first sight?” Sara presses.

He hesitates. “I wouldn’t say _love_ at first sight, but I was definitely attracted to her.”

Felicity can’t help but scoff in residual bitterness, “You were attracted to every woman you came across back then.”

He clenches his jaw again and his nostrils flare a little. Huh, being this close to someone’s face really lets you see all their micro expressions.

“You were different,” he growls and sounds vaguely angry. Maybe because they’ve had many arguments about this exact topic, whenever her deep-seated insecurities spiked up.

Sara wisely decides to cut in there and move on. “What was the secret to you staying together for five years?”

She wants to say ‘who the fucks knows?’ and throw up her arms in defeat, but her mind actually pauses for a second. What _was_ their secret? Before everything went to shit, anyway.

A quick glance at her ex tells her that he also doesn’t quite know how to answer, so she decides to try. “We didn’t jump in feet first. Despite his initial… _interest_ in me, we became friends first and solidified that foundation before we decided to be more,” she struggles to find the right words. “I’d say for a long time we were partners. Equals.”

She feels Oliver nod ever so slightly against her. “We were a team, but we weren’t completely co-dependent. We still had separate lives and dreams and goals, but we agreed to always fight for each other.”

It’s definitely the watered-down version, summarized in a few words that’ll never be enough to adequately describe the six years of their lives they’d spent together. It was never as simple as that. It wasn’t all unicorns and rainbows and kumbaya.

They’d fought. They’d cried. They’d gone to bed angry with each other. They’d yelled. They’d slammed doors. They’d stormed out.

But they’d always, _always_ come back to each other.

Always with an apology and a long, adult talk to figure out where either or both of them went wrong and how to avoid it in the future. (And with a whole lot of make-up sex.)

They were never the perfect couple, but he’s right, they always fought for each other, to find a way to make it work, to be together. Because the one thing they always had in abundance was love.

At least, that’s what she thought.

 

⁂ ⁂ ⁂ **ARROW** ⁂ ⁂ ⁂

 

 

He can see that she’s starting to retreat. It’s in the way her eyes start to glaze over and in the way her hands grip her knees until her knuckles turn white.

It’s not like she’d come here as an open book, with all her walls down. No, sir, all her walls had been up, fortified steel and all. But now, he can basically see her build even more walls and trenches and spike pits and every other defensive measure in the book.

Because of him. Because of what he did to her.

“And what made you break up?” Sara questions softly, obviously aware of his answer. Even if she didn’t know the details at the time, she’d been there for the ugly aftermath.

Felicity fidgets against him and he’s glad that she’s not wearing her glasses or they’d both have permanent marks pressed into their skin from the material. She blows out a little huff of air, clearly searching for the right words.

Go on then, Felicity.

He may have hurt her, but he’s definitely not the only guilty party in their clusterfuck of a break-up. She’d done her part, alright.

“We grew apart,” she finally says measuredly and he can’t help but snort.

“We grew apart?” he questions in disbelief. “That’s putting it mildly. I think it was more along the lines of: your job became your life and you forgot about everything and everyone else around you, including your fiancé.”

Okay, so, maybe he’s still bitter about that part…

“You always knew that my job was important to me,” she argues, her eyes taking on a fiery glow. Dear god, fired up Felicity is still one of the hottest things he's ever seen.

“Important, yes, but I didn’t realize I’d always come second,” he spits back, breaking their physical connection and putting a few inches between them. He can’t think clearly when they’re touching. “I thought that at some point you’d choose me instead of work.”

“I _did_ choose you.”

“No, you didn’t,” he growls. “You were going to leave. Me. Starling City. Your friends. Everything.”

She reels back in surprise. “What- what are you talking about?”

“Palmer’s offer.”

“You knew about his offer?” Her voice has lost all its fight.

“Yes, I knew about the fucking offer, because he wouldn’t shut up about it at that stupid benefit I went to when you were working late. He couldn’t stop gushing about how amazing you would do in London and how you’d have all the resources in the world and all that shit. Guess how much fun it was to pretend like I had any fucking clue that my _fiancée_ was planning on moving halfway around the globe.”

She slumps in her chair, shaking her head in confusion, before anger returns to her features. “So, that’s how you justified sleeping with another woman?”

“It’s not like you were planning on including me in your life anymore anyway…” he grumbles, trying his hardest not to let the immense hurt in her eyes get to him.

That had been his goal all along, hadn’t it? To make her feel like shit. To make her feel as lost and hurt and alone as he felt every time she chose her stupid work over him.

She stares at him with wide, stormy eyes, visibly deflating in her seat, one hand running over her face before she lets out an acerbic chuckle and shakes her head again. “You wanna know what’s ironic? I _did_ choose you that night.”

His brows hike up. “Oh, yeah? Canceling _another_ date night last minute was a sure-fire way of showing that.”

“I _told_ you I’d be running late,” she shoots back, nibbling on her bottom lip nervously.

“Yeah, I remember a text telling me that you’d be an hour late,” he allows. “Two hours later I was still sitting alone at our dining room table with an ice-cold home-cooked meal in front of me.”

“Is that when you called another woman to keep you company?”

It was, actually.

Just as the two hour mark had passed, he’d picked up his phone and sent a quick text to Isabel, asking her if she wanted to come over. He had no intention of ever sleeping with her, but he knew her mere presence in their apartment would drive Felicity up the wall.

Was that one of the lowest points of his life? Definitely. But he didn’t care. He was frustrated and alone and he just wanted to feel something. Even if it was just anger.

When he didn’t get a reply from Isabel, he tossed his phone on the beautifully set table and stalked off to take a shower to rinse of that horrible shitshow of an evening.

Little did he know that that’s when the shitshow really began.

 

 **⁂**  
**⁂** **⁂**  
**⁂** **⁂** **⁂  
****Fifteen-ish months ago**

 

_The shower does little to calm him down. He’s still livid._

_Is it too much to ask for a simple dinner date with your fiancée?_

_Is it too much to expect at least a phone call to cancel their night together instead of a clipped text?_

_Is it really too much to ask to be put first for a change?_

_He wants Felicity to be successful. He’s proud of everything she’s achieved and knows she’ll do even more amazing things in the future._

_But he is sick and tired of playing second fiddle to her work every single day._

_He can’t even count the number of times she left dates early, or took a call in the middle of a conversation with him, or how many times she bailed on him entirely._

_Like tonight._

_He’s no stranger to work. After all, he works far more hours per week than the average American. When you’re a VP of a Fortune 500 company, and the heir of said company, that’s just part of your life. But Felicity’s hours trump his easily. Especially, now that her project is in its finishing stages. Between his work commitments and her crazy hours, they’ve actually gone several days without really talking with or even seeing each other, despite sleeping in the same bed._

_They both thought they knew what they were signing up for when Felicity was offered to head the project, but this is absolute madness._

_Obviously, none of that justifies texting another woman to make his fiancée jealous and he’s so fucking glad that she didn’t react to his idiotic knee-jerk reaction._

_He’s barely stepped out of the en-suite shower in their work-out room (because apart from a shower he’d also felt the need to beat the crap out of his punching bag) when their landline rings in his office. Tightening the towel around his waist, he quickly strides into the next room and answers._

_“Good evening, Mr. Queen, this is Jason from the concierge desk. I’m just calling to let you know that Ms. Smoak is on her way up and she’d like you to open the door for her because she’s got her hands full with a box that she refused to let me carry for her,” their nightshift concierge lets him know in one breath, before adding, “Have a good night, sir.” and hanging up._

_Grumbling, he makes his way down the stairs of their loft and towards the door. As mad as he is, he’s not really in the mood to fight about this again right now. He’s so tired of having the same argument over and over again without ever solving their problem._

_What’s the definition of insanity again?_

_He yanks open the door, a tiny part in the back of his mind warning him of the chewing out he’d get from their bodyguard Dig for forgetting to lock it, bracing himself for the unknown._

_He doesn’t expect to be faced with a genuinely happy Felicity when the elevator doors down the hall open. She’s brightly smiling from ear to ear, and only then does he realize how long it’s been since he’s seen her like this. Her smile does what it always does and he feels his lips tug up at the corners in a reflexive move, before he catches himself and schools his features._

_“Hey, honey,” she greets him, undeterred by his stoic reaction, and leans up to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, accidentally bumping the case in her hands against his bare chest. “Oh, sorry, can you take this, please? I need to take these deathtraps pretending to be shoes off my feet before they do permanent damage.”_

_“Felicity,” he growls when she just dumps the case, judging by the weight and slight clanking noises there’s wine bottle inside, in his arms and promptly uses his flexed biceps to steady herself  while taking off the so-called deathtraps._

_“Right, sorry,” she says, stepping on her now bare tip toes and framing his face with her delicate hands, leaving a lingering kiss burning on his lips. “Hi,” she whispers against his lips. “I’m so sorry for being late, but I have_ really _exciting news about work.”_

_He tries really hard to keep being angry with her for standing him up again, but with her barely contained enthusiasm and giddiness it’s really hard._

_Exciting news about work. Maybe she’s finally done with the stupid project and they can go back to their normal life._

_Hope flickers in his chest._

_And is instantly squashed by a crushing feeling of despair when he realizes finishing her project probably means that she’s talking about her promotion to the London branch. Which she is insanely happy about._

_Fuck._

_“I think she can keep taking the rest of the night off, don’t you?” an unexpected, sultry voice comes from inside their apartment, making them both whip their heads around and take a step backwards._

_Isabel Rochev is striding down the stairs like she fucking owns the place. Her hair is mussed and she’s just now zipping up a rumpled black dress that is so indecently short that Oliver isn’t sure it can be classified as a dress._

_She walks up to them calmly, shooting Felicity a disdainful glare before stopping in front of him. In a surprise move she leans up and smacks a hard kiss to his lips that feels so innately wrong that he recoils from her with wide eyes. Undeterred, she lets her fingertips trail over his bare chest, “I’m pretty sure I already gave you everything you need tonight.”_

_What the fuck?_

_Without another glance back, she strides to the waiting elevator and leaves behind the thoroughly speechless couple._

_It’s only when the elevator doors close that his body comes out of its stupor and he turns to Felicity._

_A part of him wishes that he didn’t, because the sight of her breaks his heart._

_She looks crushed. Completely and utterly crushed._

_“Please tell me that you didn’t cheat on me,” she whispers brokenly, her eyes swimming with tears, unable to meet his gaze._

_He knows that it looks damning. He’s standing in front of her freshly showered and another woman just came from their bedroom upstairs and kissed him right in front of his fiancée. Even an idiot would realize how indisputably guilty he looks right now. And still, she’s clinging onto a miniscule shred of hope that this somehow wasn’t as bad as it looks._

_He stays silent, pressing his lips together._

_This is his one chance to explain himself to try and save their relationship (or whatever is left of it anyway), and he decides to stay silent._

_It’s an incredibly petty and immature thing to do, but this look of complete despair and hurt on her face is the most emotion he’s seen her show towards him in months and a desperate, cruel part of him is glad that she feels the same things he feels every time she’s put him second._

_The triumph of the moment evaporates into meaningless nothingness when a sob rips from the trembling lips of the woman he asked to spend the rest of his life with him._

_“Felicity,” he whispers, belatedly coming to his senses. Tell her the truth. Tell her the fucking truth!_

_She flinches violently when he takes a step towards her and any more words die in his throat._

_“Don’t you dare touch me,” she spits out between sobs, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face, anger joining her horror._

_“Please…” he begs, quickly depositing the stupid wine case on the floor._

_“I… I can’t…” she sobs, desperately fighting for control. “I need to go.”_

_“Don’t leave. Please, Felicity, this is not… Let’s just take a breath and talk,” he begs her, feeling her slipping right through his fingers. If she walks out that door, she’s not coming back. That’s the one thing he knows with absolute certainty. There’s a great many things she would forgive him. Cheating isn’t one of them._

_“There are no words in this world that can make me want to stay in the place where you fucked another woman,” she hisses, grabbing her discarded shoes and purse, turning to leave._

_“Felicity,” he tries again, his voice tripping over her name when his brain starts to fully understand that the love of his life is walking away from him because he’s a jealous, stupid, lying idiot. “It’s not what it looks like,” he yells after her just as the elevator dings._

_“Fuck you,” Felicity yells right back, her voice reaching volumes he’s never heard before, while she rips her engagement ring off her left hand and hurls it through the open space with surprising accuracy, hitting him square in the chest before clattering to the floor. “Or call Isabel. I bet she’d be happy to do it again.”_

  
**⁂** **⁂** **⁂**  
**⁂** **⁂** **  
****⁂**

 

 

He’d failed to go after her, rooted to the spot by guilt and anger and shame.

How could he treat the woman he loved like that? How could he let her think that he did the one thing she would never forgive him. Not with her history of not one but _two_ cheating boyfriends that came before him.

Just thinking back to that one moment of satisfaction her hurt and devastated look had given him, he knows that she deserves better than him.

So, he’d stayed away from her and any attempt to reconnect, to explain, stewing in his guilt and anger.

Over the past year, he’s come to terms with the part he played in destroying their relationship, but he also knows that nobody could put all the guilt on him. He may have pulled the proverbial trigger, but she’d handed him the gun.

Combing through his memory of that night once again, he still doesn’t understand how she thinks she ‘chose him’. She _didn’t_. She walked away.

“Explain to me how you possibly chose me that night?” he fires at her, trying to distract himself from his guilt.

She sighs, pressing her lips together in hesitation. “It doesn’t matter now,” she finally says with a shake of her head. “It’s in the past and it sure as hell won’t change anything now. There’s no point in talking about it.”

“Well, isn’t that the whole idea of this stupid video thing that we both agreed to for some idiotic reason?” he chuckles sardonically, waving his hands around to motion at the crew around them that’s caught between staring at them intently and looking awkwardly at their shoes. “So, tell me, Felicity, when did you choose me? When you walked away from me without letting me explain? When you threw a forty-thousand-dollar ring at me? When _exactly_ did you choose me?”

He’s goading her, and based on one in annoyance lifted eyebrow he knows that she knows what he’s doing, but she takes a deep breath and answers him anyway, “You’re right. I chose myself then.”

Boom. Queen – 1, Smoak – 0.

“I chose you before I came home that night,” she adds calmly, ignoring his disbelieving scoff. “I chose you when I accepted the head of IT department position at QC that your mother offered me.” She tilts her head to the side pensively. “Which I then quickly had to un-accept because talk about awkward work situation…”

What?

 

 **⁂** **⁂** **⁂ ARROW ⁂** **⁂** **⁂**

 

 

If the situation weren’t so serious, she would’ve laughed at the insanely comical sight of his face when his cocky smirk slowly drops, leaving him slack-jawed.

“But… I… you always said…”

“That I didn’t want to be handed a job by my boyfriend’s parents? Yup, that’s true,” she agrees to his sputtering, not entirely sure why she’s explaining herself. “But your mother is a very tenacious woman and she sweet-talked me for a couple of years. With my not very satisfying professional situation at Palmer Tech and our deceivingly steady, long-term relationship, she finally got through to me and convinced me that I’d built up enough of a reputation for myself with my achievements and breakthroughs at PT, that nobody would dare to question my qualifications. Plus, I was about to become an official part of the Queen family anyway, so it only made sense to join the family business, too.”

She can practically see the wheels turning in his head, trying to process all the information she’s flinging at him.

“You accepted a job at QC and didn’t tell me?” he asks and has the audacity to make it sound like an accusation.

Asshole.

“Because it was meant to be a _surprise_ ,” she shoots back without missing a beat, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back in her chair. “I knew how much you wanted me to work at QC with you and I didn’t want to get your hopes up while we were still negotiating with Ray to get me out of my contract as quickly and swiftly as possible,” she explains with a dismissive wave of her hand, keeping to herself how difficult her former boss (who had always rubbed Oliver the wrong way for some reason) had been during the process. Definitely taught her to read her contracts more carefully before signing them in the future.

“That night we finally reached an agreement and I met with your mom and the QC lawyers to pick up the contracts that we’ve had ready for weeks. Moira and your HR director had already signed and I asked them to let me take the contract home to sign it with you there.”

Okay, adding that detail may be a little bit cruel, considering how often Oliver had begged her to come work for QC. Waving this in front of his face now has the distinct feeling of twisting a knife in his back. But damnit, they were _this_ close to having a perfect life and he had to go and sleep with someone else.

No, not just anybody else, though. Isabel Fucking Rochev.

She’d hated her from the moment they’d met and the other woman had given her a condescending look and not so discretely insinuated that Felicity was just a gold-digging whore.

Oliver just stares at her with wide eyes, and then suddenly slams his eyes shut and groans. “That’s why my parents were so pissed at me after the break-up. I thought it was because they thought I was falling back into old habits, but it was really because I was the reason you didn’t come work for QC.”

“Yeah,” she confirms with a decent amount of smugness, “your mom may or may not have offered to have you reassigned somewhere far away to get me to accept the job offer anyway. Repeatedly.”

Because she’s just that good and Moira knows it.

“Huh, that’s why she’s been bringing up the new Asian branch so much lately,” he muses and then stills. “You’re still talking to my mom?”

Yeah, because she’s not the one that cheated on me.

“Why shouldn’t I?” she shrugs. “Moira, Thea and I have a standing monthly brunch date at Table Salt. Robert joins us sometimes. Just because _you_ turned out to be an asshole that cheated on me, doesn’t mean I have to stop talking to _them_.”

He looks at her for long seconds, his eyes darkening. “I didn’t.”

“You didn’t what?” Expect her to keep contact with her would-be father, mother and sister in-law? Well, tough luck, buddy.

“I didn’t cheat on you.”

That’s… really _not_ what she expected him to say.

“Wh... What?” she splutters, convinced she didn’t hear him correctly.

“I didn’t cheat on you,” he repeats quietly, keeping soft and, to her complete shock and bewilderment, _honest_ eyes steadily on hers.

“I… that… no!” she stutters. “I saw…”

What did she see? She didn’t catch them in flagrante delicto… and he never verbally confirmed it, which means there’s a teeny tiny chance that he’s actually telling the truth.

But then, why would he go and not deny it?

“Isabel came from upstairs, zipping up her goddamn dress,” she argues, willing her brain to go back to that horrific night and see if there’s any indication that he’s maybe telling the truth now. “She more than insinuated that you slept together and then _kissed_ you,” she reminds him with disgust dripping from her words. “And you wanna tell me now that you _didn’t_ sleep with her? No, I don’t believe you.”

None of this makes any sense.

Why would he bring this up now? But what does he have to gain from lying now? But why would he have lied back then? Because, yes, in her book, by not telling her anything and letting her believe the inevitable, that’s lying, too.

If he really didn’t sleep with Isabel why the hell wouldn’t he just deny it when she’d straight up asked him?

What the fuck is going on?

God, she’s starting to get a headache.

She looks up, searching his eyes for _any_ indication that he’s lying.

She doesn’t find any.

Instead, she finds a surprising amount of nervousness and… guilt? He stays silent, lips pressed together in a tight line. Tension is rolling off his body in waves. He’s completely on edge, but he’s trying to contain it. The only obvious signs are in his eyes and in the subtle rubbing of his fingers, and even those would be missed by other people that don’t know him as well as she does.

From years of being with him, years of fighting and making up, she knows that he’s waiting for a sign from her to continue. He’d wasted the one and only chance she’d given him to come clean, and he’s not sure if she’ll give him another one now.

“Explain.” Because this whole situation is a mystery to her and she hates mysteries.

It won’t change anything. Even if he didn’t cheat on her, he still let her believe that he did. He still didn’t fight for her afterwards.

His eyebrows twitch in surprise and it looks like he’s trying to figure out if he heard her correctly. He clears his throat, shifting in his seat.

Yup, definitely didn’t expect her to hear him out.

“I was angry at you that night,” he starts slowly, his eyebrows drawn together as he sifts through his own memories. “I was pissed that you put your work first again. Like always. I was waiting for you for hours and only got a stupid text to cancel _another_ date night.”

She frowns, thinking back to the time leading up to that fateful night. She’d worked a lot, that much is true. And yeah, she’d canceled a few dates, but he’d never complained, saying he understood.

“I… I wanted to make you feel what I felt. The frustration, the anger, the disappointment… so I texted Isabel to come over to make you jealous. I figured if she were there when you got home, maybe you’d realize how… frustrated I was.”

He brings a hand up to run over his face. Only now does she see how tired and weary he looks. “It was a shitty move and when she didn’t reply, I figured it was for the best. I took out my frustrations on the punching bag and took a shower,” he continues.

So far, it all sounds plausible. Horrible, of course, but for all she knows this actually _is_ what really happened.

“As soon as I stepped out of the shower the concierge desk called to let me know you were coming up and needed me to open the door, so I went straight downstairs.” For the first time since he started explaining he looks up from his hands, finding her gaze. “I swear to god, Felicity, I had no idea that Isabel had actually stopped by. The front door was unlocked and she must’ve let herself in while I was in the shower,” he rushes out breathlessly, a distinct hint of desperation in his tone. “I _didn’t_ sleep with her.”

She regards him for a few long seconds, using all her knowledge of his body language, before coming to one horrible, inescapable conclusion: he’s telling the truth.

God damn it all to hell.

What the fuck?

Why would he lie back then?

Why didn’t he come after her?

Why didn’t he just tell her the truth?

Why, why, why?

And the even more daunting question: what if?

What if he _had_ told her?

What if she’d believed and forgiven him?

God, her life would be completely different now.

She wills her eyes to find Oliver’s, making sure that she’s not misreading the situation, but there’s nothing but honesty and guilt.

She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.” Now that’s a sentence that Felicity Smoak doesn’t use very often.

He inhales sharply, his suddenly soft and pained face a complete juxtaposition to the hard and cold expression that had greeted her earlier today.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I... It… I just…” He swallows hard, a war waging behind his azure eyes. “Because I _wanted_ to hurt you.”

It’s her turn to suck in a sharp breath.

 _I wanted to make you feel what I felt_ , his earlier statement echoes in her ears.

She’d hurt him by choosing work over him one too many times and he’d decided to punish her by intentionally hurting her.

That’s just messed up.

“And what completely idiotic part of you thought it was a better idea to let me believe that you cheated on me than actually sit me down and talk about how you felt?”

“And when was I gonna do that?” he exclaims defensively. “Do you even realize how little time we spent together leading up to our break-up?” He takes a steadying breath, backtracking, “I’m not saying that that justifies what I did. It _doesn’t_. I should’ve never even _thought_ about misleading and, consequently, hurting you like I did.”

Damn right.

“I was miserable and apparently thought I could fix that by making you miserable, too,” he whispers brokenly. “You don’t know how much I wish I could go back in time and change everything.”

Oh, she has an inkling.

She runs her hands over her face, rubbing her tired eyes, needing a second (or ten) to work through this mess they made.

“I was wrong,” he whispers into the deafening silence. “Just completely wrong. I should’ve used words instead of actions and I’m _so_ sorry, Felicity. For hurting you. For letting you believe that I would use your biggest insecurity against you. And for not fighting for you afterwards.”

She nods numbly, because what else is she supposed to do than acknowledge his apology? She sure as hell isn’t ready to accept it yet.

She can hear and see and _feel_ that he means it.

But that doesn’t change anything, does it?

Trying to distract herself, she tears away from his pleading eyes and looks around for Sara. Who’s… nowhere to be found. In fact, there’s no one in the room with them. Where did they all go?

Oliver is just as confused by their sudden lack of bystanders if his puzzled look is anything to go by.

Frowning at the empty space and one glance at the camera that is most definitely not recording anymore, a nagging suspicion forms in Felicity’s mind.

“Did you ever tell anyone what really happened?” she asks, turning back to her ex.

He fidgets in his chair, eyebrows drawing together in concentration. Damn him for looking so fucking adorable. “Sara, actually. She dragged me out for a night at Verdant and got me drunk.” He clears his throat in discomfort. “The night’s a bit fuzzy, but I’m pretty sure I told her about it. That’s also when she got me to agree to be part of her video. Why?”

She raises an eyebrow at him. Really, Oliver? It hasn’t clicked yet?

“You think she set this up to get us to talk?” he questions when she just waits for him to put the pieces together.

“Yup,” she agrees. “That meddling little devil.”

He huffs out an agreeing breath, but doesn’t say anything, quietly observing her.

She sighs loudly. “Well, I guess unless Sara went the extra mile and locked us in here, we might as well call it a day, right?” she suggests into the silence between them, needing some space to process.

“Right,” he agrees after a beat, looking crestfallen. “Just… I know I’ve said it a few times now, but I really am sorry for how I treated you. You deserved better than that.”

She tilts her head to the side, taking in his slumped posture and pained eyes, before nodding. “I gotta say, even if this was unconventional as hell and even though I never wanted to think back to that night, I’m kind of glad we talked about it and cleared up what really happened.” She huffs out a humorless chuckle. “Knowing that you didn’t cheat on me… it helps,” she continues, struggling to find the right words. “This doesn’t make it okay that you lied to me, but at least I think I can stop hating you now. And I can stop thinking that there’s something so wrong with me that every man I care about turns to another woman because I’m not good enough for them.”

He slams his eyes shut at that, but not before she can see the insane amount of guilt and shame.

“And I’m sorry, too,” she whispers, unable to keep an emotional wobble from her voice.

He shakes his head vehemently, glossy eyes meeting hers, words stuck in his throat.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t see your pain and frustration,” she says softly, for the first time physically reaching out and letting her fingers run over his. “I’m sorry that I made you feel like you weren’t a priority. That was never my intention. I know I invested a lot in my work, but I honestly never realized how much of a toll it took on you and our relationship, too.” She sighs tiredly. “Maybe I was just so focused on getting the project done and planning my move to QC that I lost sight of what was happening with us in the present. Either way, I’m sorry.”

He’s stopped shaking his head in denial, but he still looks at her with doubting eyes. She knows him well enough to know that he thinks he doesn’t deserve an apology or a way to, at least remotely, justify his actions. And that isn’t really what she’s trying to do. But she just can’t let him shoulder all the guilt, when it’s clear that her behavior contributed to the situation that made him want to lash out and hurt her.

“I wish we could’ve found a better way,” she whispers sadly, mourning the present and future they could’ve had.

“Me, too,” he chokes out, squeezing her fingers lightly for a second before pulling away. “I should go.”

Years of loving him tell her that he’s about to fall apart, his soul racked by guilt and self-loathing. Her heart breaks at the thought that once upon a time he didn’t shy away from showing all his emotions in front of her.

But that’s not who they are anymore.

So, she doesn’t try to stop him. It’s not her place to comfort him.

He gets up from his seat, licking his lips nervously. “I really am sorry, Felicity,” he repeats his apology, ducking his head. “I know that I have no right to ask, but…” he hesitates, “maybe eventually you can forgive me for being such a complete idiot.” He swallows heavily, before gazing at her softly. “Take care, Felicity.”

She nods numbly and watches as he leaves the room with slumped shoulders.

Oh, boy.

What a mess.

She leans back in her chair, releasing a long breath that comes out a little ragged, staring at the closed door.

Where does she even begin?

Pro: He didn’t cheat on her with Isabitch. Con: He let her believe that he cheated on her with Isabitch to hurt her.

Pro: He seems genuinely sorry about it. Con: He only started seeming genuinely sorry about it after she’d told him about her almost job/future at QC.

Pro: Despite herself, she still has feelings for him. She’s not entirely sure what those feelings are, but there’s _something_ stewing in her. Con: The mere thought of trusting him with her heart again fills her with panic.

God, her brain hurts.

She needs ice cream. And wine. Or Tequila. That’d work, too.

But even with a little liquid courage, a pressing question remains: can she ever forgive him?

 **⁂** **⁂** **⁂**

_**To be continued…** _


	2. Chapter 2

**⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ARROW ⁂ ⁂ ⁂**

 

**3 months later**

 

She’ll never forgive him.

That’s the conclusion he’s come to three months after Sara set them up to talk. He hasn’t heard even a peep from her. But maybe he’s naïve to think that she’d actually reach out to him after what he’s done.

Correction: it’s definitely naïve, but that doesn’t stop him from holding onto some lingering hope.

Because he misses her like crazy.

And knowing what he knows now, that she’d been a mere signature away from joining his family’s company and not, as he’d thought, taking a position halfway across the world, brings about a sheer unbearable amount of guilt for messing everything up.

So, he did what any sane person would do: he threw himself into his work.

Which has led him to finally finish a project that he’s been struggling with for the longest time. If everything goes well, in just over two hours the board will sign off on his idea and grant him the budget to start a newly reformed employee rewards and recognition program. He just has to put the finishing touches on his presentation and then he can enjoy at least another thirty minutes at his favorite café, drinking the best cup of joe in the entire city.

It’s a little ridiculous that he still gets nervous prior to a presentation, he’s done hundreds of them by now, but there’s always that lingering judgement from the board members and department heads, questioning his legitimacy for holding such a high position. It doesn’t matter that he graduated with honors from Harvard University with his MBA, in large parts thanks to his ridiculously supportive and motivating girlfriend, because everybody just assumes he only got to where he is today because it’s his family’s name on the building.

Felicity used to be great at reminding him that he was worth more than his last name, but he’d made sure to burn that bridge, hadn’t he?

A little, horrified shriek behind him alerts him that something terrible is about to happen, but it’s too late for him to react and prevent the steaming cup of coffee from splashing all over his laptop... and his shirt and pants.

In complete shock, he watches as the screen that previously showed his almost finished presentation, flickers and suddenly goes black.

Noooooooo! Fuck!

He whips around in his chair, ready to rip whomever killed his laptop a new one, only to come face to face with his ex.

Double fuck!

“Oliver!” she exclaims hurriedly with wide eyes that mirror his surprise. “Oh, my god, I’m _so_ sorry!”

A guy steps up with a wad of tissues, holding them out to Oliver, before he turns to Felicity. “You weren’t kidding when you told me you were a klutz, huh?”

Oh, great, they know each other.

Felicity blushes, but at the same time looks like she’s suppressing an eye roll. “Billy, could you maybe ask the barista if they have a towel? I think the paper tissues won’t get us very far.”

Are they on a date?

“I’m really sorry, Oliver,” she repeats, strategically using the tissues to soak up the moisture from his fried laptop. “I hope you weren’t working on anything important.”

He considers lying, playing it off to get out of this situation quickly, but he doesn’t, because she doesn’t deserve any more lies from him. “I was finishing a presentation for a meeting later.”

“Oh,” she huffs out, looking up from her futile attempt of drying the computer. “But you saved your progress, right?”

He stills, thinking back over the last one and a half hour he’s been here.

“Uh, not manually, but it saves it automatically every now and then, right?” he questions with drawn together eyebrows. “Oh, and I still have that cloud thingy that all my documents are saved on.”

“That cloud thingy?” she repeats with an amused arch of her eyebrow and lets out a little huff. “Were you connected to the Wi-Fi in here?”

“Uh…” Crap! “No.”

“Well, then the cloud is not an option,” she sighs, shaking her head. “I never understood how you could date me for five years and still be such a tech noob.”

“You guys dated for five years?” that Billy guy chimes in from behind, towel in hand.

Ignoring the other guy and his stunned look, Oliver quickly grabs the towel, mopping up the worst of the fluids on his clothes and running it sloppily over the piece of tech turned paperweight.

Time for a tactical retreat. And not just because he’d rather get punched in the face repeatedly than keep crashing what is probably his ex-fiancée going on a date with another guy, but also because he is supposed to do a really important presentation in front of the board of directors in just about an hour and the only copy of the presentation file just drowned.

He’s so royally screwed.

“Oliver?” she asks quietly, her fingers curling around his forearm to halt his hasty movements.

He tightens his jaw, trying to contain the bolt of emotion running through him at the contact. “Don’t worry about it, Felicity,” he assures her tightly. “I’ll go straight to the IT department and have them retrieve the file. It’ll be fine.”

He really, _really_ hopes that it’ll be fine.

“I would probably be quicker, you know?”

“Yeah, but you’re…”—he motions vaguely to Billy—“busy.”

Felicity’s eyes widen a little, like she’s just now remembering that she is, in fact, here with another man.

Huh.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” he replies, grabbing his stuff. “Have fun, you two.”

Yeah, that just about rips up his insides to say, but it earns him a surprised and grateful smile from Felicity, so it’s kinda worth it.

 

 **⁂** **⁂** **⁂**

 

He’s bouncing his knee up and down nervously while he works on the replacement presentation. Luckily, he’d found an earlier version that was backed up in his cloud, so he doesn’t have to start from scratch and just has to repeat everything he’d done at the coffee shop.

Except, it took him over an hour to put in all the finalized numbers and add some more charts and transitions, but he only has about thirty-ish minutes before he needs to stand in front of his parents and the board. And he also still needs to change out of his coffee-stained clothes.

What a splendid day it is…

At his assistant’s desk, one of the IT guys is working on getting the data off his ruined laptop, but he’s already told him that it’ll take at least another hour before he knows if anything on the drenched hard drive survived the coffee attack. Maybe he should’ve taken Felicity’s offer of help after all. The day they met, he’d come to her with the exact same problem and she’d extracted all his data and completely set up a new laptop for him in under thirty minutes.

A throat clearing rips him out of his panic mode and makes him look up from his screen for the first time since he started working.

He’s so not ready to be faced with his ex-fiancée for the second time in less than an hour. Even though she’s always a sight for sore eyes.

“Hey,” she greets him, tentatively entering his office. “I brought a peace offering,” she says and holds up the cup holder with two steaming cups in her left hand and a small paper bag in her right.

Her reaching out, willing to talk to him, is what he’s been hoping for for the past three months. And when it finally comes, it’s at the worst time possible.

But is the peace offering of coffee and pastry for their general situation or because of the earlier coffee mishap?

“Or, well, more like an apology for killing your laptop, I guess,” she amends with a thoughtful tilt of her head as she steps up to his desk.

The latter, then.

A quick glance at his computer’s clock tells him that he’s really running out of time.

“That wasn’t necessary,” he tells her with a forced smile, hoping he’s not sounding too harsh. “I really don’t mean to be rude, but I have to be in the boardroom in twenty-nine minutes and I have to finish prepping.”

She holds his gaze for a few seconds. “You said the presentation wasn’t until later.”

“Well, yeah, technically, half an hour from now is later,” he hedges, absently wondering if that counted as a lie.

“Where’s the laptop?”

“You really don’t have to-“

“Oliver, where’s the damn laptop?”

He presses his lips together in frustration. “Thank you for the coffee, Felicity. I appreciate the gesture, but I really have to get back to work,” he says as carefully neutral as he can.

Why the hell is he refusing her help?

 _Because you wanted her to be here for a different reason_ , his mind tells him disappointedly.

She’s not having any of that. “Why are you being so difficult?”

“I’m not being-“ He huffs out a breath. “The IT department’s got it handled.”

“Well, apparently, your IT department is _crap_ , because they haven’t retrieved your files yet,” she fires back impatiently, looking around in search of the damaged device, her eyes finally settling on the poor IT guy just outside his office.

Oliver groans in frustration (read: elation) at being faced with Felicity’s never-ending tenacity, and watches her briskly walk outside to confront the poor man who’s shrinking back into his seat in fear.

“Felicity,” he tries to intervene, following her to where she’s already shooed the other man out of his chair, grumbling about the “terrible” setup of his gear. “Mike already told me that there’s nothing he can do to speed up the process.”

She looks up, narrowing her eyes at the tech support, while speaking to Oliver, “Well, _Mike_ isn’t me.”

Damn it, why does she have to look so goddamn sexy when she’s being a cocky, multi-tasking jerk?

“How about you go change while I get you your last auto-save?” she addresses him again, a little softer this time, while taking his destroyed laptop apart with practiced fingers. “Then you’ll still have some time left to finish it.”

He’s tempted to protest, but the fact of the matter is that there’s no one who’s better with tech than she is and if she tells him that she’ll be able to get him his file, she will.

Well, that and he’s pretty desperate. If there’s even a remote chance that he can get his hands on a more current version of the presentation than the one he’s working with, he’ll gladly take it.

When he steps out of his office’s private bathroom in fresh clothes a few minutes later, he’s surprised to find her lounging in the plush seats in front of his desk, sipping on her cup of coffee.

“You’re already finished?” he asks, totally failing at keeping his surprise and admiration for her skills out of his voice as he plops down in his own chair, eyes zeroing in on his presentation.

“Yup.” And there’s that smug little smile again.

A quick glance at the last slide he’d worked on in the coffee shop tells him that by some miracle all of his progress had been saved, which means he just has to polish the last couple of slides and he’s good to go.

“You’re remarkable,” he breathes out in equal parts relief and gratitude. “Thank you, Felicity.”

A lovely shade of red spreads across her cheeks and she dips her head a little. “You’re welcome. It only seemed right after I got you into this mess in the first place.”

“Well, I’m sorry you had to cut your date short for it.”

Lie.

Kind of, at least. Because he genuinely does want to see her happy, especially after everything he put her through.

She grimaces a little, trying to cover it with a laugh. “Don’t worry about it. It was a dud, anyway. I would’ve probably ended up spilling coffee over someone else’s laptop on purpose to get out of there.”

He chuckles. “That bad?”

“You know…” she says, shrugging lightly. “Just not… the right guy.”

Right… Because _he_ was supposed to be the right guy for her. Damn it.

“Anyway,” she interrupts the suddenly tense silence between them, clearing her throat. “Working on anything interesting?”

He can’t quite believe what is happening right now. They’re talking. Like, actually talking. Having a real conversation.

Even if the one-eighty in topics is enough to give his brain whiplash, and even though he only has… fourteen minutes until he has to be in the boardroom, he jumps at the chance to talk to her.

“I’m working on overhauling our employee rewards and recognition program,” he says proudly.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, we’ve lost quite a few promising, young employees over the years, because other companies offered them a better deal, especially when it comes to all the little extras. The younger generation, which is the bulk of our incoming workforce, obviously, has a different approach to balancing work and life, and other companies have already adjusted their rewards programs, etc. and have become more attractive employers in the process. If we wanna stay competitive with the best brains on our side, we need to act. So, I’m trying to convince the board to change a few things to keep our current and future employees happy.

“If everything goes well and they sign off, we’ll have longer paid maternity leaves, as well as paid paternity leaves, more flexible work schedules when possible, a new bonus system, a free summer camp for our employees’ kids. We’d be expanding our daycare here and offer scholarships. I mean there’s so many things we can do. I’ve been reading a ton of research on labor rights in other countries and it’s shocking how differently it’s done in the States. There’s so much room for improvement.”

Okay, he’s kind of rambling, but he’s really proud of the ideas he’s put together.

She stares at him, slowly putting down her cup on his desk. “Oliver, that sounds _amazing_.”

“You think?”

“Of course! The board would be stupid not to agree with you,” she assures him, sounding genuinely excited.

“Yeah, I don’t know. It’ll cost us a pretty dime to implement these changes, but I think it’s a worthy investment that’ll pay off in the long run. But I’m not sure if I can make them understand how important this is.”

“Well, I’d say you’re certainly passionate enough about this,” she muses. “You care about the company and the people that work here. And just from listening to you just now I’m ready to throw money at you to make your vision a reality. So, when you talk to the board, speak from your heart and I’m sure they won’t be able to say no to you.”

He’s stunned into silence by her words, not expecting her to show so much support for his project.

“Thank you,” he whispers, quite possibly blushing a tiny bit.

Silence settles over them again, and Oliver uses the time to take her in. She’s wearing a well-fitted black and gray dress that clings to her curves perfectly, with a high ponytail and her glasses completing her trademark work look. Which actually makes him wonder what she does for work now.

“Mr. Queen?” his assistant’s voice cuts through the quiet, before he can ask. “You’re expected downstairs in five minutes.”

“Thank you, Amy.” His fingers fly over the keyboard, filling in the last numbers for his presentation, and emailing it to his assistant. “I sent you the final presentation. Could you go ahead and set everything up?”

“Of course, sir.”

Once they’re alone again, he turns back to Felicity who’s already in the process of getting up from her chair. “I’m sorry to have to kick you out.”

“That’s okay,” she says with a smile, her eyes on him as he rounds his desk. “I have a meeting in half an hour, anyway.”

“Thank you for stopping by and saving my ass.”

“To be fair, I was the one to put your ass in peril in the first place, so…” she trails off, chuckling lightly. “Good luck for your presentation.”

“Thanks. And good luck for your meeting.”

“Thanks.”

They smile tentatively at each other.

How can this feel so familiar and so awkward and foreign at the same time?

They trek towards the elevator together in silence, pressing the buttons for their respective floors when they get into the empty car.

“It was good to see you again,” he says earnestly when the doors open only three floors down, shooting her a genuine smile, before moving to exit the elevator. “I’ll… see you around.”

She simply nods and smiles, looking just about as awkward and unsure as he feels. “Oliver,” she calls out, stepping in between the closing doors.

He whirls around, stopping in his tracks on his way to the conference room. “Yeah?”

Don’t get your hopes up.

Don’t you _dare_ get your hopes up!

“Can we talk?” she asks quietly. “Not now, obviously, but maybe tomorrow?”

Holy crap.

“Yes,” he blurts out without thinking, before his brain catches up. “Wait, no.” Her face crumbles, and he hurries to explain, “Shit… I mean, I can’t tomorrow. I have back-to-back meetings all day tomorrow and a business dinner with my parents and some investors in the evening.”

“Oh,” she breathes out, visibly relieved that he didn’t categorically shut her down. “How about Friday?”

“Friday’s perfect,” he agrees, trying not to sound too eager.

She nods happily. “Alright, I’ll text you the details. Now go talk some old guys into giving you a heap of money,” she tells him with a wink before stepping back and letting the persistent elevator doors close.

He can only stare after her in complete disbelief. She’s willing to talk to him.

He doesn’t want to get his hopes up too much, and the logical part of him has to begrudgingly admit that rekindling their relationship is more than unlikely after what they’ve been through. After what _he_ put her through. But if the few minutes with her today have taught him anything, it’s that having her in his life in any capacity, even if it’s just as friends, is what he wants. What he _needs_.

He ends up being a few minutes late to the meeting, earning himself disapproving looks from his parents, but it’s so goddamn worth it, because for the first time in one and a half years there’s hope and cautious happiness blooming in his chest.

**⁂** **⁂** **⁂ ARROW ⁂** **⁂** **⁂**

 

She’s nervous.

Why is she so fucking nervous?

Oh, yeah, maybe because her ex-fiancé is minutes away from knocking on her door?

Or maybe because of the uncertainty of what tonight will bring.

What she does know for certain is that seeing him and talking to him at the coffee shop and later at his office had felt _good_. Awkward at times, yes, but there’d also been moments that felt so incredibly familiar and right, that everything in her just craved for more. It felt like coming home.

Which is a problem, because he’s _not_ her home anymore. Hasn’t been in over one and a half years.

But then what is he?

Or maybe the more accurate question is: what does she want him to be in the future?

What does she want to happen after tonight?

Friendship? Less? _More_?

Is ‘more’ even a possibility after everything that happened?

Letting him back into her life and becoming friends would be one thing, but trusting him with her heart again would be on a whole other level.

 _How about you stop getting ahead of yourself_ , she reprimands herself and takes another glance around her house. She spent all of her afternoon cleaning the place. Not because she needed to or because she liked it, but because it gave her brain a much needed break from worrying about her talk with Oliver.

She’d been happy when he’d agreed to come to her place to talk. Neither of them keen on getting unwanted attention from the local media. Especially, if tonight doesn’t go well. How awkward would it be to have photos of them circulating around Starling tomorrow and magazines speculating about a possible reunion?

No, thank you. This way she can focus on the problem at hand and doesn’t need to worry about everyone else.

If she’s honest with herself, these questions about her maybe future with Oliver have been nagging at her for the past three months, ever since he’d told her the truth. Ever since, she’s been at war with herself about her next move, so she’d turned to the one person who knows the full story, both sides, for some advice.

“Look, honey,” Sara had sighed. “I didn’t do this to get you two back together. I spent more than a year watching you fall apart because of him. And I watched him do the same thing. And after I heard his side of the story, I just couldn’t stand by any longer and watch two of the most important people in my life be miserable because of a fucking misunderstanding. Just because you know the truth now doesn’t mean that you have to forgive him or let him back into your life. You don’t owe him anything. All I’m saying is that you both deserved to know the truth. What you do with it is completely up to you.” After a pregnant pause she’d continued, “For what it’s worth, though, I think you’ve always been better together, even when you were just friends.”

Well, that had been unhelpful….

She basically told her to follow her gut. But her gut just so happens to be all over the place because the goddamn butterflies have to come out and play whenever she thinks of her ex.

How is that fair?

Why couldn’t her heart just take a hint and be done with the guy?

 _Because you still love him_ , her mind needles her.

Yes, fine, apparently, she still loves him.

For the biggest part of her adult life she considered this man the love of her life and the man she was going to marry and have kids with. You don’t just let go of that from one second to the next, no matter how much you’d like to.

So yes, a part of her still loves him, will _always_ love him. But is she still _in love_ with him?

The doorbell keeps her from answering her own question. Steeling herself, she takes a deep breath, wipes her sweaty palms over her black jeans and slowly opens the door.

Oliver greets her with a sheepish smile, one hand hanging limp at his side with his thumb and middle finger rubbing together, while the other has a death grip on a bottle of wine.

Oh, great! Alcohol!

“Hey, come in,” she greets him and steps back so he can move past her.

“Hey,” he says and shrugs out of his leather jacket. “I figured I couldn’t go wrong with a bottle of red.”

“You know me too well,” she smiles and motions for him take a seat on the couch while she grabs a couple of glasses and the wine opener from the kitchen.

“So, tell me, how did the board like your ideas?” she asks a couple of minutes later, settling in beside him on the couch, handing him one of the filled wine glasses, figuring they might as well ease into the heavy topics with some small talk.

“They were… generally open to my ideas, but as expected they questioned the investment/benefit ratio and essentially said that I could choose a couple of ideas that will get the priority treatment, but the others will have to wait until they see that investing money like that actually yields any results.”

“You don’t seem too happy about that,” she notes with a frown. His dejected voice a complete turnaround from his excitement just a couple of days ago.

“I’m happy that they accept that there need to be changes, but it’s frustrating that they’re essentially postponing most of them. I feel like I got a pat on the shoulder with a ‘good job, kid, now let the real business men take over’. To be honest, it felt like they were surprised that I came up with actual, helpful results and now they don’t know what to do.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, Oliver,” she says and takes his hand in hers before she can think about it. “Your parents value your opinion, and not just because you’re their son,” she quickly squashes the argument she can see forming in his eyes, “but because you bring a new perspective to the table and you’ll use that to lead QC to the next chapter. And whether the board members like it or not, you are the future of QC.”

He chuckles humorlessly. “I can assure you they don’t like it.”

“Then make them like it. Be so goddamn good at your job that they have no other choice but to see that you’re not just becoming CEO because of your family name, but because you’re the best man for the job. You want to make your vision of the employee reward and recognition program a reality? Then don’t give up at the first sign of resistance. Fight for what you believe in.”

He stares at her for a long time, and she starts to consider that maybe she shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not her place to give him a pep talk.

Oliver clenches his jaw tightly, retracting his hand from her firm grip. “I think we both know that I’m not good at fighting for the important things in my life,” he says darkly and averts his eyes.

Woah. Okay.

Small talk is definitely over.

“Why _didn’t_ you fight?” The whispered question slips out before she can stop herself. “For us. For me.”

His head whips up, pained eyes finding hers. “I wanted to. I did. But… that night… I just couldn’t.”

He couldn’t? That’s his answer?

“At first, I thought it would be best to give us both some time to take a breath. But by the next day, I had replayed what happened so many times in my head and I felt so guilty and ashamed that I couldn’t face you. Because you deserved better than someone who intentionally hurt you.”

She sucks in a breath, watching as tears well up in his eyes.

“So, I stayed away.” He swallows heavily, his eyes casting over with darkness. “And then over the past year I convinced myself that no matter what shitty things I’d done, our relationship was doomed anyway because of the job I thought you’d accepted in London and because I was sure you didn’t care what happened to us because you’d always put work first.”

“Oliver…”

“I know,” he groans, closing his eyes. “I know that I made just about every wrong decision that I could and I’m so sorry.” He looks at her pleadingly. “Tell me how I can make this right.”

Is there even a way to make things right?

“That night destroyed me, Oliver,” she says softly. “I’m not telling you that to make you feel guiltier than you already do. I just want you to understand why this was so hard for me and why it took me so long to reach out. I trusted you with my heart despite my own history with heart break and despite knowing your less than stellar track record. I trusted you and you went and made me believe that you had cheated on me when you knew full well that that was the one thing I can never forgive. For over a _year_ I thought I would never ever be good enough for anyone and that broke me, Oliver.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, jerking up from his seat and putting a few feet of space between them.

She lets him pace nervously for a few minutes, watchful eyes following his movements, as she waits for his next move. Unless he’s drastically changed, his first instinct will be to run from the situation.

The sinking feeling of what’s to come proves to be true after tense minutes of silence. “Maybe I should go,” he whispers dejectedly.

“Why?” she questions point-blank, getting up from her couch, annoyed that he always seems to choose flight over fight. “Let me ask you something. Now that we both know the truth about what happened, all the misunderstandings cleared up, do you want me back in your life?”

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” he protests, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Isn’t it?” She arches an eyebrow. “Do you want me back in your life?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you just giving up? Why do you wanna leave? Why are you not _fighting_ for me to be in your life?”

He stumbles a step away from her. “I… you…”

She inhales, calming her nerves, bracing for her next words. “I forgive you, you know.”

He shakes his head vigorously, biting his lips. “No… you can’t… I don’t…”

She steps up to him, taking his hands and holding onto him tightly. “I can. And you do deserve it.”

“Felicity…”

Her name is like a desperate prayer on his lips, laden with so many emotions.

He looks at war with himself, and things click into place in her brain.

She steps closer, lifting one of her hands to his chest. “You know what I think? _My_ forgiveness is just one part of this puzzle. The next one is you forgiving yourself.”

His eyebrows draw together in confusion and it looks like he doesn’t quite know what to do with her assessment. At least, he’s not actively pulling back from her anymore.

“If you want any kind of… relationship with me, you have to let go of the past and forgive yourself,” she clarifies, searching his eyes. “I can see how the guilt is wearing you down and that you’re constantly beating yourself up for what you did. You need to accept that you made a mistake and that you can’t go back in time and change it. The past is in the past, and wow this is turning into a Disney song,” she trails off with a huff, her little quip not quite managing to elicit a smile from him, but his eyebrow shoots up. “But you get what I mean, right? If you don’t forgive yourself for your mistakes, you can’t move forward, because you’ll always have that guilt at the back of your mind holding you back.

“That’s what I’m doing, too. I have to live with the fact that I was so focused on my work that I completely missed how unhappy you were. I unintentionally created a situation where you thought you were so unimportant to me that I would choose a job over our relationship. And I’d love to go back, too, to change that, to make sure you felt how much I loved you, but neither of us can, and it _sucks_ , but that’s just how it is. So, all there’s left to do now is to accept that I made a mistake, move on and do better the next time.”

“How can you make it sound so simple, when it’s anything but?” he huffs out in frustration. “I can’t just forget that my selfishness and idiocy destroyed the best thing in my life.”

Oh, Oliver.

“I didn’t say you should _forget_ what happened. I said that you need to accept that you made a mistake that you can’t take back,” she corrects him, tapping his chest lightly. “And I’m not saying it’ll be easy. It _won’t_. It’ll suck and it’ll hurt to go back to that night over and over again, especially knowing how easily the situation could’ve been averted.” She flattens her palm on his chest, right over his rapidly beating heart. “It took me months of talking to a therapist to get here and I can assure you that it wasn’t a cake-walk, otherwise I would’ve knocked on your door months ago.”

“You talked to a therapist?” He sounds surprised.

“Yeah,” she admits with a nod. “I thought it would be a good idea to have someone to talk to who’s impartial in all this. She helped me see things from a different perspective and to fully understand the situation. It didn’t just fix everything magically overnight, but it helped me get to this point where I can forgive you _and_ myself for the mistakes that were made.”

He looks down at her, his eyes wide and full of sadness. “The thing is, I don’t think I can ever forgive myself for what I’ve done,” he whispers brokenly. “And I just can’t stop thinking what if I’d acted differently? We’d be _married_ by now. Talking about having kids in a few years. Would we have gone to Bali for our honeymoon like you always talked about? Would we-“

She cups his face forcefully, willing him to stop going down the same road she’s been down too many times in the last few months. “We can’t live our lives in what ifs, Oliver.” Another piece of wisdom she’s learned the hard way on her path of processing everything.

He closes his eyes and leans into her touch as her fingers start moving on their own accord in well-practiced strokes across his cheeks.

“I _hate_ that I hurt you,” he murmurs, his head dipping down, leaning his forehead against hers, while his hands find her waist in a tight grip. “And I _hate_ that I thought for even a split second that hurting you would solve anything. And I _hate_ that I didn’t fight for you. For us.”

She stays silent, reveling in the closeness they’ve shared a million times, but that’s been missing from her life for so long.

It’s in that moment, being back in the arms of the man she loves more than anything, that she knows without a shadow of a doubt that she wants him back.

The past be damned.

And sure, she could make him suffer a little, make him work harder for her forgiveness, make him quite literally grovel at her feet. But wouldn’t she just make herself suffer in the process, too? Haven’t they both suffered enough over the past one and a half years? One person intentionally hurting the other as an expression of their own feelings instead of communicating openly is what got them in this mess in the first place and repeating that mistake would just make her a big fat hypocrite.

When she pulls away a little, her breath hitches in her throat when she sees the fiery determination in his eyes, briefly making her wonder if he’s had similar realizations about their future as her. Either way, seeing him so determined _does_ things to her.

He lifts his hands from her hips, cupping her cheeks with gentle hands, a small but increasingly sure smile tugging at his lips.

“Whatever it takes,” he vows reverently, never taking his eyes off hers.

It’s a solemn vow. For what, she’s not entirely sure, but it _feels_ like he’s promising her the entire world.

“If you’re sure about forgiving me and giving me another chance, I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll talk to every goddamn therapist in the state to figure this out if necessary. No taking the easy way out, no matter how much it’ll hurt. I _will_ fight for you this time.”

She inhales sharply, letting his sincerity and determination wash over her. And yet, she stills needs a little more. “Promise me,” she whispers, hoping he’ll understand why she needs this.

“I promise, Felicity,” he says without a moment of hesitation. “ _Whatever_ it takes to come back to you.”

 

 **⁂** **⁂** **⁂**


	3. Chapter 3

 

 **⁂** **⁂** **⁂ ARROW ⁂** **⁂** **⁂**

 

Therapy sucks.

That basically sums up his last five weeks perfectly.

Every Tuesday during his lunch hour, he has an appointment with Dr. Snow. And then every Friday afternoon, he has a joint session with Felicity.

For a little over a month, their therapist has been chipping away at his walls with a maddening patience, freeing some deep-seated issues that he’s been quite happily ignoring for the last twenty-ish years of his life.

Sometimes the sessions leave him feeling raw and broken, making him tumble down a road of self-doubt. Sometimes they leave him angry and feeling helpless. And sometimes, very rarely, they give him a feeling of peace and understanding.

It’s an excruciating process. One that he’d happily stop right now if it weren’t for the promise he’d made to Felicity.

Stopping now would mean giving up on them for good and taking the easy way out. And he can’t do that. Not again.

He might mostly hate the countless therapy sessions he’s been to, but he knows that this is his chance to be with Felicity again. And god knows he desperately wants to be with her again, but that’s not always enough to keep his doubts and frustrations at bay.

It’s after a more taxing one-on-one session that he blurts out, “Do you think we’ll make it?”

Dr. Snow smiles kindly at him, not at all deterred or surprised by his slightly unnerved outburst. “That’s up to you. I’ve seen many things happen in these four walls that I could’ve never predicted. If it’s meant to be, you’ll find a way.”

How very reassuring.

Isn’t that a little too ‘que será, será’ for a professional?

“But we’re not a completely lost cause, right?” he presses on, needing a more direct confirmation of some progress from her.

“The fact that you’re here, trying to make things work, should be answer enough.”

“It’s just that… I… _we_ ’ve been coming here for weeks, and yet I feel like I’m moving in circles, instead of getting anywhere.”

“That’s where I respectfully disagree. Because you _have_ made progress,” she assures him gently, making a little flare of hope erupt in his chest. “But therapy, much like life, isn’t a straight line. Sometimes there are obstacles in our way and we have to adjust our course and take a detour, sometimes we have to stop and take a break, sometimes we have to take a step back and try a different path. As long as you don’t lose sight of your goal, and as long as you keep moving and trying, I can assure you that you’ll find _your_ way to where you want to be,” she explains, and he nods along in understanding.

“But you have to accept that this process takes time. And as frustrating as it may be, along the way you’ll make mistakes that will make you take a step backwards. And that’s absolutely okay. No one is expecting you to be perfect. So, I would advise you to stop trying to do everything perfect in here, because that’s an impossible task to achieve. Let yourself make mistakes and learn from them.”

 

 **⁂** **⁂** **⁂**

 

Dr. Snow’s words follow him around for the rest of the day, occupying his mind so much that hours later he barely registers the knock on his office door.

“Hey,” Felicity’s all too familiar voice greets him, a welcome surprise after a dull day. “Hope you don’t mind, but I called your assistant earlier to see what the rest of your day looked like and she said you’d probably be staying late to review the budget proposal for your program before you give it to the board,” she explains in a rush, moving closer to his desk.

She’s carrying her purse in one hand and a white paper bag with the logo of his favorite Chinese place in the other. His lips curve upwards, but it must look a little forced, because her own smile falters. “Everything okay?

He exhales slowly, rubbing his hands over his tired face. “Yeah, I’m just frustrated and tired.”

She smiles at him encouragingly, sitting down in one of the visitor chairs, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Getting this project on the road is proving to be really difficult and this is the fourth reduced budget proposal I’ve had to present. And if the board denies this one, I won’t be able to do even a fraction of what I initially set out to do, which just sucks because you’d think they’d be interested in investing in the future of the company, but instead it seems like they just care about ensuring their own paycheck for the next few years. It’s ridiculous.”

Wow, apparently, he really needed to get that off his chest.

“I’m sorry they’re giving you such a hard time,” she says, her brows furrowing, and he can basically see the wheels turning, trying to come up with a solution to help him.

He can’t help but smile sadly. This is how they were at their best. Listening to the other’s problems, trying to help in any way possible. Even if that only meant encouraging words and a supportive smile. How long before their break-up had they stopped doing that?

“I’m meeting with Walter later this week to see if he has any ideas on how to make this happen in a way where it actually has an impact.” A thought hits him then. “Speaking of which, I might have to skip our meeting with Dr. Snow on Friday, because Walter is going to Europe on the weekend and only has a few appointments left on Friday afternoon and I’m not sure when exactly those are.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s fine,” she’s quick to assure him with an agreeing nod. “It’s not like they’re compulsory, and meeting Walter is more important.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that it’s more important than our therapy sessions,” he tries to argue, suddenly feeling like he’s walking on thin ice. Putting work above the other person was part of their relationship’s demise, and he doesn’t want to fall back into old patterns that have proven to be destructive. “Maybe I can postpone the new budget proposal until he’s back in three weeks.”

“What? No,” she looks at him perplexed, eyebrows drawing together. “The world won’t end because we skip one session together, Oliver. This project is important to you and if Walter can help you make it a reality, you should get his opinion sooner rather than later. Don’t feel guilty for skipping a meeting because of circumstances that are out of your control. Plus, I think we’re both clocking more than enough hours with Dr. Snow. One missed meeting won’t tip the scale.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to think I’m not taking this seriously,” he questions, just to be on the safe side. God, he hates feeling this insecure.

“Very sure,” she tells him, nodding along. “If it makes you feel better, we can see if she can see us at a different time or on Saturday. I’ll see her tomorrow, you saw her today. It’s all good.”

He thinks back to his time with Dr. Snow today, feeling a new wave of uncertainty and frustration roll through him.

Of course, Felicity picks up on his shift in moods. “Bad session?” she asks with a sympathetic and slightly worried frown.

“Not bad, per se,” he sighs. “It was more like a little reality check that I wasn’t ready for.”

She nods understandingly and motions to the bag in front of her. “How about we dish up before everything gets cold, and you tell me about it? Maybe some one-on-one talk without the doc looking over our shoulders would do us some good?”

“Yes, please,” he huffs out with a little nervous chuckle.

Most of the times, he finds it really unnerving and stilting to have someone else in the room when they talk about more serious things, who’s analyzing every word.

They move over to the sitting area, Oliver grabbing a bottle of wine, glasses, plates and cutlery from a cabinet on the far side of his office.

The feeling of familiarity is almost crushing. This is another thing they used to do all the time. Whenever one of them had to work late, the other would stop by and make sure they had dinner and actually took a break, even if it was just for half an hour. Yet another thing they’d stopped doing somewhere along the way.

“I missed this,” Felicity gives voice to his own thoughts when they settle in on the couch with a plate of food each.

“Yeah, me, too,” he sighs, leaning back contently, but not before seeing the same questioning glint in her eyes that just begs to know: when did we go so wrong?

“So,” she breaks the silence that surrounds them, “you wanna talk about your session with Dr. Snow?”

He nods, chewing slowly on his food as he tries to come up with a good way of phrasing everything that’s going on in his head. “I’m just a little frustrated with my progress. Or maybe I just underestimated the effort and time it would take to… get somewhere. I don’t know.”

“It was like that for me too in the beginning. I felt like I was moving in circles, always coming back to the same questions, the same conclusions, the same pain.”

That sounds familiar.

“How did you move past it?”

“Time,” she shrugs and tilts her head. “And accepting that everything I lived through is in the past and therefore cannot be changed. That every moment and all of the pain it caused shaped the person that I am today. And as much as I hate everything I went through in the past two years, I love who I’ve become as a person. I know it sounds crazy, but I needed all of that pain and all of that anger to reach new levels. And I needed to do that by myself. For myself.”

“So, it’s a good thing we broke up?” he asks, feeling his heart drop in his chest.

“It wasn’t _good_. The pain we both felt wasn’t _good_ ,” she clarifies decidedly, putting her plate down and squeezing his knee. “But I would argue that maybe it was necessary at the time.”

Per Dr. Snow’s suggestion, he silently counts down from ten and takes a deep breath, letting her words sink in, before reacting.

It does little to soothe the sting. Her words are like a slap to the face. She thinks their break-up was a positive thing.

“How can you think that way?” he blurts out, unable to contain or soften his reaction. Not hungry anymore, he puts his plate next to hers on the table.

Her face softens. “What’s the alternative, Oliver? To obsess over all the negative things?”

“No, of course not, but you said it yourself that we shouldn’t forget what happened and learn from it.”

“I’m not forgetting! Believe me, I’m well aware of what happened, but I’m choosing to be positive about it instead of concentrating on the crappy parts. I’m choosing to look to the future instead of letting myself be weighed down by the past.”

“’The positive’ being that we ended our relationship and that you’re better off without me in your life. That’s great. Tell me again why we’re here if you don’t actually want me in your life?” Deep down he knows that snapping at her isn’t helping either of them, but her comments just add to his frustration and the only way he knows how to get rid of them is by lashing out, apparently.

“You know this is exactly the kind of behavior that landed us in trouble in the first place. Don’t just assume things!” she points out calmly with a perfectly arched eyebrow that just fuels his anger.

“Oh, fantastic, so I’m to blame for fucking things up this time, too?”

“Oliver, you gotta understand that you didn’t fuck things up the first time.” Well, that’s certainly not what he was expecting to hear. “We _both_ messed up. Just look at the state our relationship was in when it ended. I was too focused on work to see what that was doing to our relationship, and instead of communicating with me you decided to lash out by hurting me. Correct me if I’m wrong, but neither of those things should’ve happened in a healthy relationship.”

“So, you’re basically saying we would’ve broken up eventually, even if that night hadn’t happened?” he questions, voice full of doubt, his anger slowly receding.

“I actually asked Dr. Snow about this recently," she says, licking her lips. "Without realizing it we created cracks in the very foundation of our relationship long before we broke up. And those cracks would’ve shown at one point or another. I think it’s debatable if we would’ve broken up, but we were definitely nearing a tipping point that would’ve impacted our relationship one way or another.”

“Okay, so we didn’t have a perfect relationship. That’s hardly news. What I don’t understand is how you can say breaking up was better than working things out.”

“I’m not saying it was better,” she corrects him with a long sigh. “I’m _saying_ that knowing everything we know now, not _everything_ that came of our break-up was negative. At least not for me. Because I know that I’ve made a huge step forward in my personal development.”

“A huge step you couldn’t have made while being with me?” he questions pointedly, feeling his annoyance rise again.

She opens and closes her mouth without any sound coming out before she shakes her head. “No. Look, Oliver, you always made me feel incredibly safe. Being with you was, for a long time, a promise of a certain future full of love and stability, personal and financial. Even though the latter was obviously never a reason to be with you, but rather came as an added perk,” she’s quick to add. But he already knew that with complete certainty. Felicity Smoak was never with him for his money or his family’s influence.

“But as much as I loved you and as much as I loved being with you, I needed to find out who I was without you. I needed to prove myself that I could be fine without you,” she continues to explain. “Dr. Snow suggested that with throwing myself into work like I did, I was trying to do just that without really knowing that there was a deeper reason behind it. She thinks that before I took a job at your family’s company, completely intertwining our lives, I needed to prove to myself that I deserved to get that job and that I earned it on my own, independent of your family’s influence.”

He lets her words settle in his mind, using the new pieces of information to fill in a few of the blanks that litter his view of the big picture back then.

It makes sense.

And it’s definitely not the first time he's heard her talk about her need to make a name for herself, but he’d never realized just how deeply it affected her.

“But you still accepted my mom’s job offer before the break-up,” he reminds her, thinking back to what she’d told him during Sara's video shoot setup.

“Yeah, well, looking back to that moment now, I don’t think I was really ready for it. I just let myself be persuaded by a high position, a lucrative contract and the thought of giving you what you wanted. I made the decision for the wrong reasons and too early on, and I think there was a pretty big chance I would’ve come to regret that decision.

“After breaking up with you, I went from having everything seemingly figured out about my future with marrying you and taking a long-term position at QC to having none of that. It turned my whole life upside down and I had to adjust. And I did. I still quit my job with Ray because I never wanted to go to London and I just didn’t see a fulfilling future at his company anymore. So, I started to freelance as a cyber security consultant and that was the best decision I could’ve made.”

“Hence, your idea that something positive came of our break-up,” he offers and she nods in confirmation.

“I still think at least 95% of it sucked, but I like the thought that all the pain wasn’t for nothing and we actually got something good out of it.”

He lets everything sink in, his heart dropping a little in defeat when he realizes what kind of a long road he has ahead of himself to reach a similar level of acceptance and optimism.

And for what?

Listening to her has made one thing quite clear: she’s happy without him.

So what will they be when all is said and done and he’s worked out how to forgive himself? Will they be friends?

They’d talked about another chance before, but now he’s not so sure that’s actually in the cards for them. Not when she’s clearly better off without him.

 

 **⁂** **⁂** **⁂ ARROW ⁂** **⁂** **⁂**

 

She takes in his slumped shoulders, nervous fingers rubbing together.

“What is it?” she prods softly, hoping he’ll open up to her.

He hesitates, visibly weighing his options, so she reaches out and intertwines their fingers in silent support.

His brows draw together in a frown while he stares down at their tangled fingers.

Come on, Oliver.

She stays silent, waiting for his decision whether to share what’s on his mind or not, knowing that pushing him more won’t do them any good.

“I’m scared of losing you again,” he finally admits quietly, stroking her fingers almost reverently, like there’s a chance she might disappear any second.

“What makes you think that?”

He presses his lips together, tilting his head in thought, still searching for those right words.

“We… we never really talked about what we are... or could be,” he starts his explanation. “I know that there were certain things implied when we decided to work on us, but we never really said where we’re headed with this. Are we trying to be friends? Are we trying to rekindle our romantic relationship? Are we just trying to put this whole mess behind us and go our separate ways when all is said and done?”

The words are just bubbling out of him now, and that more than anything tells her that this is something he’s been stewing over for quite some time and something that’s fueling his doubts about them.

“And with this whole limbo we’re in, I’m _terrified_ that while I try to figure out myself, you’ll meet someone else or realize that I’m a lost cause or that you’d just be better off without me,” he continues before she can formulate a response, effectively rendering her speechless. “And the more time I take, the more probable that possibility becomes. And then what do I do?”

It’s only when taking in his words and his desperate look that she realizes just how right he is. Because they _haven’t_ defined what they are or what they wanna be. Not out loud, anyway. Because in her mind it’s quite clear that she wants a relationship with him again.

Well, hi, communication. Or rather, lack thereof. Good to know you’re still around.

She could slap herself. There she was just a few minutes ago, pointing out this exact behavior and now she’s guilty of making the same mistake, and by extension making Oliver doubt everything they’re doing here.

Use your words, Smoak.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, looking for the right way to express her feelings. “It was so clear to me in my mind, because we’re both here and _trying_ that I completely forgot to talk to you about it.”

She grabs his hands and squeezes them tightly, hoping to dispel some of his nervous energy. “I’m not looking for anyone else. I don’t _want_ anyone else,” she tells him, making sure her voice matches the confidence of her words. “I’m hoping that when we’re both ready for it, we’ll try to be together again.”

His breath catches in his throat and his eyes dart between hers. “You really want that?”

“Yeah,” she nods with a huge smile when she sees his lips tick up hopefully.

“And how will we know when we’re ready?”

“I figured we’d just know when it happens,” she shrugs. “But, like I said, until then I have no desire to be with anyone else. And I’ve enjoyed getting to know you again these last six weeks, so I really have no reason to go after anyone else.”

“Get to know me again?” he questions, his expression half thoughtful, half amused. “You already know me. Probably better than anyone.”

“Well, yes. And no. It seems to me like I’m not the only one that has changed in the past one and a half-ish years.”

He clears his throat uneasily, leaning back a little, looking nervous and uncertain again.

“In a good way, Oliver,” she assures him and his expression relaxes a little, turning curious.

“How so?”

“I don’t really know how to explain it, but you carry yourself differently. A lot less cock-sure and more… considerate,” she says with a little nervous laugh. “Seeing you be so invested and passionate about the company is… amazing. You used to be so reluctant to take responsibility at QC because you didn’t think you earned the right, but now you stand up for what is inherently yours.” She shifts in her seat, hoping he won’t take this the wrong way. “And this is coming from someone who’s loved you even when you had your terrible serial killer haircut and who’s watched you grow up in and after college. You were already amazing back then, but… you’ve kinda upgraded.”

He stares at her for agonizing seconds before his lips curl into a cocky smile. “Yeah?”

“Yes, Oliver,” she smiles at him, letting him be smug for a little bit. “And I’m not the only one who thinks that. Your parents are really proud of you, too. They keep talking about you during our brunches. Sometimes, I think they’re doing that to make sure I don’t forget about you.”

He huffs out a breath and shakes his head a little, but doesn’t try to argue with her. “So, is this the point where I admit that you were right?” he asks after a few more moments, but she’s not sure what he’s referring to. “Maybe something good _did_ come of our break-up. At least in our professional lives.”

She can’t argue with that. From a professional standpoint, the time since the break-up has been a blessing for her. After not having any semblance of a social life anymore, because for a while there she avoided her friends and their questions, she threw herself completely into her work. Thanks to her tireless effort she’s worked up a solid client base that keeps her busy and that pays extremely well. Even Ray Palmer has come knocking on her door when a hacker had attacked his company’s system.

She’s doing well, making a name for herself as the go-to-woman for businesses that look to create or reinforce their cyber security. There are few people in the country that match her skills.

But anything outside of work is a bit… dull.

She’d tried the whole dating thing, but none of the guys she went out with (a lot of them referrals from Sara’s gym classes) ever sparked anything in her. Maybe that was the universe’s way of giving her a hint that looking for another man wasn’t the solution. Because she’d already found The One.

 

 **⁂** **⁂** **⁂**

 

“Do you think it’ll ever stop feeling like there’s an anvil sitting on my chest when we’re talking about our relationship?” he questions quietly into the comfortable silence that had fallen over them in the past few minutes while they both processed all that’s been said tonight.

She knows that feeling all too well. The way you lose your breath and feel like your throat is constricting, an immeasurable weight holding you down.

She licks her lips, not sure how to answer him with words, so she slowly brings up her fingers to his shirt. Without his tie that he’d already discarded before she came to stop by this evening, she has easy access to the buttons of his white shirt. With practiced ease that just seems to come flying back to her movements she unbuttons one after the other until she can part the material enough to carefully press her palm to his chest, right over his heart. All while his watchful eyes study her every move.

“Here?” she asks quietly, tapping her finger against his skin.

He slams his eyes shut and nods as he breathes in sharply.

They’re so close.

Her heart is beating right out of her chest, his doing the same under her palm.

And then suddenly out of nowhere his lips are on hers for the briefest of touches, giving her a second to feel him, to taste him before they break apart.

Wait! Did she pull back or did he?

“Felicity.” The desperate plea in his voice and the anguish in his eyes tells her that she was the one who pulled back and now he’s terrified that he just destroyed everything they’ve worked for.

She frames his face with unsteady hands, needing to buy herself a second to process.

She quickly scrambles together her options:  
Option a) she steps on the brakes and tells him that they should take more time.  
Pro: they could take the time to make sure that they’re ready for this.  
Con: she doesn’t really want to wait any longer, because kissing Oliver is addictive and it feels so _right_. Plus, he already looks devastated, she doesn’t want to make him feel worse.

Option b) she waits for him to do something.  
Pro: he’d have to make a decision and she wouldn’t have to take the responsibility.  
Con: that’s not very relationship-y. They should decide together. Plus, he looks like he’s about to puke from nervousness.

Option c) they talk.  
Pro: they’ll have a mature conversation and make an informed decision about their future. Together.  
Con: that probably means no more kissing for the foreseeable future, because the smart thing would probably be to take this nice and slow and ease back into a relationship.

“I love you,” she whispers into the tense silence instead.

Damn it, that wasn’t one of the options.

“Wh… What?” he stammers.

She chuckles at his bewildered and yet adorably hopeful expression, feeling giddy and empowered after saying the words out loud. “I love you, Oliver,” she repeats with a shrug, loving how easily and naturally the words roll off her tongue after almost two years of not doing so. Like it’s just meant to be.

“I love you and I wanna be with you. And I know that I was just talking about finding the moment when we’re both ready. But maybe I was wrong, maybe we don’t need to have everything figured out to be ready, maybe we just need to be willing.”

“Are you sure we’re ready?”

“No,” she huffs out. “But maybe we don’t need to be ready. Maybe we just need to be willing. Plus, we have Dr. Snow on our side who’ll help us navigate this and we might as well be together while we figure things out, right?”

He tightens his jaw, considering her words before he nods in agreement.

This time, their lips meet in the middle, both of them giving into the urgency of their long-awaited reunion. They fall in sync immediately, like they haven’t taken a really long break from doing this. It comes naturally to them. And it’s that thought that makes Felicity believe that maybe just maybe they’re meant to be.

Maybe everything they went through, all the pain and anger, was meant to shape them into the people that they are today. Maybe they were always meant to take that break and go on a journey to find themselves, before they could be truly perfect for each other.

Either way, with everything she’s learned about herself, about him and about their previous relationship, she knows two things with absolute certainty: she loves this man and she wants to spend the rest of her life with him.

“Ahem,” a throat clearing rips them right out of their blissful little bubble of re-exploring each other’s bodies. “Oliver, darling, I know that it’s after hours and the building is mostly deserted, but I’d still appreciate it if you kept your… _liaisons_ out of the office,” the serious, slightly annoyed voice of none other Moira Queen rings through the open space of his office.

They both freeze, lips still hovering above one another, a fraction of an inch apart.

Oh, crap.

This is not good.

She quickly takes stock of their new position. (How long have they been making out?) She’s straddling his stomach, her chest pressed to his, while he’s lying flat on the couch. Her hands are on either side of his waist. Don’t ask her when she (or he?) unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. Right now, the only thing separating them from Moira’s undoubtedly judgmental glare is the back of the couch that provides just enough cover for Felicity to hide behind.

Oliver is being no help whatsoever, looking at her with wide eyes, a mixture of shock and amusement. He gives her a little helpless shrug and pecks her lips.

She takes a deep breath and sits up, taking matters into her own hands. “Hi, Moira,” she wheezes out, completely failing to sound even remotely casual.

“Felicity, dear,” the older woman acknowledges, not quite able to reign in her shock. “This is… a surprise.”

“Yup,” she answers, chuckling nervously while Oliver discretely buttons his shirt.

“I certainly wasn’t expecting to see you here,” his mother continues. “My son hasn’t made me aware of the fact that you’re back together. Or you, for that matter. We had brunch the other week and you didn’t mention that you were in contact with Oliver again.”

Oliver sits up then, the momentum of his movement sending Felicity sliding down his abs and into his lap. God damnit, that was sexy.

“That’s because this is a recent development, mother,” he tells her with a tight smile, his body tense like he’s preparing for a fight.

“I see,” Moira responds simply, dark blue eyes watching them carefully. “But you are indeed back together? Or is this a less permanent… arrangement?”

Is Moira Queen asking them if they’ve turned into fuck buddies?

Felicity would find that way funnier if it wasn’t for the sudden glint of uncertainty in Oliver’s eyes.

“Yes, we’re back together and, hopefully, it’s very permanent,” she replies confidently, never taking her eyes off Oliver’s. She hopes her own gaze holds even a fraction of the never-ending love and adoration she sees forming in his.

He leans up to press a quick peck and a murmured “I love you” against her lips before tearing his eyes from hers and back to his mother to await her judgment.

The Queen matriarch regards them closely for a few agonizing seconds before she tightens her grip on the straps of her designer purse, her lips stretching into a genuine smile. “Well, in that case: carry on,” she tells them with a light wave of her hand and turns around to leave.

That sounded like approval, if Felicity ever heard one.

**⁂** **⁂** **⁂**

 

They start dating in earnest after that night.

Dr. Snow just smiles at them happily when they tell her the next week and the continue their work like before.

Just like their first relationship, it’s not all sunshine and unicorns, but after everything they’ve learned about themselves and each other, they’re better equipped to deal with the occasional bump in the road.

They end up keeping their relationship a secret for almost three months. Neither of them is keen on being scrutinized and judged by the press again, so they have most of their dates in the safety and comfort of either of their homes. They only really go out on public dates when they’re outside of Starling City where people don’t care nearly as much about what the billionaire heir’s personal life looks like.

They also choose to keep it from their friends for a little while after swearing Moira to secrecy. It starts out as an attempt to avoid the inevitable ‘I told you so’s, but quickly turns into a fun cat and mouse game that often ends with them finding each other for stolen moments in dark hallways or closets, before sneaking off together to go home.

That all comes to a screeching halt one sunny Saturday afternoon seven weeks into their relationship.

They’re just lazing around on Oliver’s couch, watching old episodes of Game of Thrones, spent after a night (and morning) celebrating the board’s approval of his newest budget proposal, when they hear a knock on his door.

He quickly disentangles himself from their cuddling session and finds sweatpants and a shirt to put on while Felicity burrows deeper into the blankets after losing her main source of warmth.

“That better not be Mrs. Vernon asking you to look for her stupid cat again,” she grumbles into her pillow, making Oliver laugh loudly on his way to the door. She’s pretty sure the old lady regularly sets loose her cat on the street to have an excuse to ogle Oliver while he helps her look for it. Not that she can blame the woman. There’s a lot of yumminess to be ogled.

She hears the door open and multiple footsteps. Oh great, Mrs. Vernon brought some of her friends along to join her in the ogling.

“Oliver, man, I’m sorry to just barge in here, but we gotta talk,” she hears Tommy Merlyn’s voice echo through the open space.

Oh crap.

“What he’s trying to say is that this is an intervention, big bro,” adds an amused feminine voice. Thea!

Double crap.

She sinks lower into the blankets, luckily completely hidden from their view by the back of the couch. She vaguely feels like she’s been in this situation before. Albeit with more clothes on.

“Guys, why the hell would I need an intervention?” Oliver asks dumbfoundedly and she can just imagine the confused look on his handsome face.

“Because it looks like you’re going off the rails.” That’s Diggle.

What the fuck?

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve skipped almost all of our nights out in the past two months and when you join us you always end up leaving early. You go off the grid for entire weekends and dodge all of our questions,” Laurel, ever the lawyer, lists their arguments.

“Not to mention the women’s clothes I’ve seen scattered all over your place the few times I’ve been over to check on you,” Diggle adds. “And the hickeys you sport all the time now.”

“You know we’re here for you if you need us, right?” Tommy queries gently. “You don’t have to drown your feelings by going on party binges and having meaningless sex.”

Okay, woah, their sex is definitely not meaningless. And they only drink the really expensive wine.

Oliver stays silent for a few seconds, probably trying to figure out how to get rid of them. “Look, guys, I appreciate you coming over and worrying about me, but I can assure you that I’m fine.”

“That’s usually code for ‘I’m not fine’,” Sara chimes in.

Seriously?! Are _all_ of their friends here right now?

This is so bad.

And also really sweet of them, she has to admit.

If only they could’ve done this when she wasn’t hiding half naked under a few blankets on her secret/not-ex-anymore boyfriend’s couch.

“Well, in this case it really means that I’m fine. Okay?!” Oliver throws back. “Now if you could all leave, that would be great.”

“Why are you trying to get rid of us?” Laurel questions, suspicion rising in her voice.

Tread lightly, Oliver.

“Because I have company and I have no desire to explain to her why my friends barged in on our time together,” he growls in response.

Nope. Wrong thing to say.

“So, who’s the skank?” Thea asks snidely, and Felicity realizes belatedly that her voice is coming closer. “Seriously, Ollie, you didn’t even sink so low after your break-up with Felicity, and now you’re turning into early college years, douchebag Ollie who goes from one one-night-stand to the next?”

“Who says she’s just a one night stand?”

Digging a deeper hole there, buddy.

“Well, great, if you’re so serious about her, then you won’t mind introducing us to her.”

Yeah, he walked right into that trap by his devious little sister.

“Well… uh… you see...”

Poor guy.

Lifting her arm to make her presence known, she slowly sits up, making sure that the blankets cover her naked torso. “For the record, I’m neither a skank nor a one-night-stand.”

“Felicity?!”

“Yup, hi, how’re you guys doing?”

“What are you doing here?” Tommy screeches. “More importantly, what are you doing here with sex hair?”

Is her hair really that bad?

“Please tell me you’re not just fucking around,” Thea groans, still looking shell-shocked.

“Okay,” Oliver jumps in. “a) language, Speedy, and b) why does everybody think we’ve become… friends with benefits?”

“Who’s everybody?” Laurel presses in her best lawyer cross-examination voice.

Felicity clears her throat, a little relieved when Oliver tosses her a discarded dress shirt she can put on. “Moira might have walked in on us in Oliver’s office.”

“Oh, eww, gross. I’m never sitting on that couch again,” Thea complains loudly.

“You might also wanna avoid the desk,” Felicity mumbles under her breath, earning herself a pointed look from Oliver who’s the only one close enough to hear her.

“So, instead of going off the rails, you’ve been secretly dating Felicity for the past two months?” Diggle gets them back on track.

Oliver nods his confirmation, sitting down next to her, entwining their fingers.

“Not to be the buzzkill here,” Tommy starts carefully, “but are you sure this is a good idea? Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for you two being back together, but I just wanna make sure you know what you’re doing. I’d hate to see you two go through another break-up. God knows it was hard enough the first time.”

A quick squeeze of his fingers keeps her boyfriend from reacting. “We’re sure, Tommy,” she tells her friend, but looking at the entire group. “We can’t give you or ourselves, for that matter, any guarantees, but I can promise you that we’re in a much better place than we used to be and I have no intention of ever letting him slip through my fingers again. We both made mistakes and we learned from them and we’ll do our damndest to make this work.”

Oliver grins broadly at her, leaning in for a quick kiss. “What she said,” he simply tells the group.

Their explanation is met with silence until Sara claps her hands together in happiness. “Well, I’ll be the first to say that I’m very happy that you two got your shit together. Now how about you get dressed and we all go out to dinner and drinks tonight? Your treat, of course, because you owe us for keeping your reunion from us.” She herds all the others who are voicing their agreement to the door, stopping in the frame. “Oh, and, by the way, feel free to express your undying gratitude for making all this”-she motions vaguely towards them-“possible, by naming your first child after me.”

Their shocked but happy laughter chases her out the door.

Turns out that maybe being friends with a Buzzfeed video producer isn’t the worst thing.

**The End**

**⁂** **⁂** **⁂**

 _They say everything it happens for a reason_  
_You can be flawed enough but perfect for a person_  
_Someone who will be there for you when you fall apart_  
_Guiding your direction when you're riding through the dark,_  
_Oh that's you and me_  
  
\- "[You and Me" by You+Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nNnBcCk7eDA)

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think? Let me know in the comment section or come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://bri617aroundtheworld.tumblr.com/) ;) Always happy to hear your thoughts!


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